Menu

Write. Eat. Rinse. Repeat.

Trauma.

They tell the painful story of my past, for everyone to see. This one scar especially runs deep. I’m very self-conscious about it, always trying to cover it up with concealer or my hair. Sometimes I do such a good job that I forget its there.

Sometimes, I look in the mirror and don’t see it. I have to look close, at a certain angle, in a certain light, to catch a glimpse. And even then I have to think long and hard about exactly how I got it. Was it…that one time… with that one person…. or was it… that other time? Sometimes I can barely remember.

And then there are those times – those times with someone new, something new but yet feel oddly familiar. De ja vu? Not exactly, but I’ve been here before and I’ve felt this before. My scar tingles.

She does something, he says something, I do something and all of a sudden I’m having a flashback and a nervous breakdown. What’s going on? I’m re-living it… Overreacting… scared that history will repeat itself and this scar, This scar that’s already healed will become fresh again.

I’m traumatized. And my scars are thick. They tell the story of my past, so that I never, ever forget.